


4AM Knows All His Secrets

by AnnaFaie



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-06-15 00:24:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15400890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaFaie/pseuds/AnnaFaie
Summary: The last night in Russia.





	4AM Knows All His Secrets

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [【授权翻译】凌晨四点钟知晓他所有的秘密(4AM Knows All His Secrets )](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15702417) by [Milkthistle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Milkthistle/pseuds/Milkthistle)
  * Translation into 中文 available: [【授权翻译】凌晨四点钟知晓他所有的秘密(4AM Knows All His Secrets )](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15702417) by [Milkthistle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Milkthistle/pseuds/Milkthistle)



Gareth waits for his eyes to adjust to the dim lighting of his hotel room. Everything’s in a haze, and the ornate floor lamp seems to sway a little. Dear God, how much had he drank? He tries to remember, but the evening is a blur of vodka shots on an empty stomach, the boys’ too-happy laughter, the smells of smoke and food and cheap beer. He can’t blame them, they had all needed the alcohol - it was that, or sit in the hotel moping on their last evening in Russia. He shakes his head, trying to focus on the tasks ahead. Stubborn fingers make their way to the suddenly impossibly tiny buttons of his waistcoat. Gareth curses quietly.

There’s a knock, just about audible against the background noise of drunken fans and cars outside. With careful, deliberate steps, Gareth makes his way to the door, opens it after a few seconds of fumbling with the lock.

It’s Harry. He looks like he doesn’t quite know why he is there, outside his manager’s hotel bedroom after 3AM. His eyes are too bright, hair mussed, and he has what looks to be lipstick stains on his white shirt. They seem oddly obscene.

\- Hey, boss, - Harry says. He speaks deliberately, slowly.

\- Is everything okay? - Gareth sobers a little, concerned. He can hear the rest of the team at the other end of the corridor, laughing and play-fighting. He vaguely resigns himself to being told off by the hotel management in the morning.

\- Yessir. Jordan is cat…catatonic, - Harry manages, then laughs. - ‘Ts all good.

\- Did you need anything?

\- Wanted to talk. - Harry looks up with a drunken intent that makes Gareth step back.

\- Come in.

Harry does, has the sense to close the door with his hip.

\- Wanted to say am sorry. - He speaks too quickly, as if struggling to contain the outpouring of words. - Wasn’t a good game today. Lads are all sorry, too. We’ve let you down and we’re sorry. Shoulda…

Gareth shushes him, putting a hand on the younger man’s chest. Harry’s skin is hot, burning through the fabric of his shirt. Harry leans against Gareth’s arm, unsteady. A moment passes. Two. They can hear Jordan laughing in the room two doors down. The lamp flickers, or maybe Gareth images it.

\- Harry… Harry.

It takes a gentle hand to lift Harry’s head, until Gareth can see the heavy-lidded eyes, the too-deep lines of weariness and disappointment.

\- Harry, for God’s sake, don’t be a dolt. I’m not angry, or disappointed. You, all of you, exceeded everyone’s expectations. Well, maybe not mine. - Gareth smiles wryly. - Now go and sleep it off.

Harry doesn’t move. His eyes dart to the back of the room, Gareth’s face, the lights flashing outside, Gareth’s face again. He’s too close, Gareth realises suddenly. He can smell the beer on Harry’s breath, the faint citrusy scent of his aftershave. It’s not unusual; they’ve had these moments of physical closeness, on the pitch, where the screaming meant it was the only way to be heard. But this was intimate, the closeness loaded with promise and unverbalized intentions.

It’s Gareth, in the end. He moves, wiping aside the two inches of hot clammy air separating them, brings his lips down on Harry’s. The kiss is chaste, just a press of the lips, lingering, inquiring. Harry wraps his arms around Gareth’s neck, as he’d done on numerous occasions in celebration or consolation, except now he brings the manager closer, presses him to the length of his body.

Harry’s mouth opens and it takes all of Gareth’s strength to stay upright as he lets Harry’s tongue dart against his lips, exploring, claiming. Strong hands pull at the waistband of Gareth’s trousers, tugging his shirt out. He hears a loud rip, barely registers his waistcoat falling to the floor, feels fingers snaking up his body to settle in his hair, deepening their kiss. He doesn’t move, half afraid he is too unsteady on his feet not to fall, half terrified of breaking the spell of the moment.

\- Gareth? - Harry is panting, his breath warm on Gareth’s cheek.

\- You’re drunk. - It’s a stupid thing to say.

\- Not drunk enough.

Harry’s lips travel to Gareth’s neck and his knees almost give out. He throws his head back, burrowing his fingers in gelled blond hair. He’s aware he’s getting hard, suit trousers becoming tight and uncomfortable. Wonders whether Harry has noticed. It’s when Harry nips at the tender skin just above Gareth’s collarbone that the manager loses his patience.

\- Stop.

Harry looks confused. Then hurt, half-pouting like a petulant child. Gareth smiles, puts his arms around Harry, pulls at his shirt. Harry lifts his arms and lets Gareth throw it aside. Gareth pulls his own shirt over his head, snapping a button in the process. His bad shoulder protests at the motion and he winces.

\- Let me.

Harry’s fingers rest on Gareth’s belt buckle, hesitant for a moment. Gareth enfolds him in an embrace, the warm golden bulk that is Harry Kane sinking into Gareth’s body. He can’t take the weight and they topple, clumsily, onto the floor, muffling curses and laughter.

They kiss again, and Gareth’s belt is undone, and he’s not sure whether it was thanks to his or Harry’s efforts. He’s pushed onto the floor, and is grateful for a moment because the world stops spinning in this position. Except then he feels the wet warmth of Harry’s mouth between his legs, and shuts his eyes tight, willing himself to keep it together, to stay quiet, too conscious of the absurdity of the situation and of Dier (hopefully) sleeping next door.

Harry is clumsy, awkward, and there’s too much teeth, but Gareth doesn’t care. His heartbeat drums in his ears, heat surging to the base of his stomach. His hands find Harry’s broad back, blunt fingernails digging into the sore, tired muscles. He wonders if he’s leaving marks. Wishes he is.

It doesn’t take long: Harry hums Gareth’s name, his tongue darts across the tip of Gareth’s cock, and the manager comes undone with a quiet groan. His body is flooded with warmth, and he can’t move, or doesn’t want to. Harry’s breath tickles the inside of his thigh, and he finds himself counting. One. Two. Three. He realises he is breathing at the same time as Harry.

A shift of weight. Harry’s mouth is swollen, pink, and his hardness is pressing into Gareth’s leg. Gareth traces a finger along Harry’s lips, lets the other man manoeuvre himself so that Harry’s arms are on either side of his shoulders. Their foreheads touch, breaths mingling. The kiss that follows tastes of them both, and the combination is heady, intoxicating.

\- Am sorry. Really am. - Harry says again. He suddenly seems so young, and much too sober. Gareth remembers what Harry has been drinking, and it hadn’t been all that much.

\- It’s only two years. - He whispers. - Harry, it’s only two years.

Two years until the gruelling training, the camaraderie, the unspoken promises conveyed via clasped hands and public embraces and standing too-close to one another. Gareth reaches down, unbuckles Harry’s jeans, watches as the younger man’s eyes flutter closed.

For now,they have this, a humid St Petersburg night, the rough scratch of the hotel carpet and the unknown that lies ahead. Foreheads touching, ragged breaths, Harry’s golden skin in the cool light of passing cars and street lamps. This night makes him feel alive, and 4AM knows all his secrets.


End file.
